


Nothing Left to Lose

by alphadick



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with some plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphadick/pseuds/alphadick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl's noticing just how strung out and tired Rick is, at his wit's end and taking horrible care of himself, Daryl decides to step in.</p><p>[or the fic where Daryl ultimately decides that wearing Rick out with sex to get him to sleep is a good option]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Left to Lose

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, just is kinda just a smutty idea I had about how Daryl notices everything about Rick and he tries as best as he can to be there for him. 
> 
> Title and chapter title is from the song Peeping Tom by Placebo

Daryl’s been watching him. Can’t help but find his eyes making sweeps of their small family before landing on the one man in the room that has always earned Daryl’s respect. He’s not exactly sure, but he thinks Rick hasn’t slept in at least a week. Daryl’s seen him push around his food for a few days maybe more, near to none actually making it to his mouth. He’ll push it off onto another’s plate, making sure they’re fed and well taken care of before himself. Rick keeps taking other people’s shifts, staying out longer and longer in the watchtower making sure that nothing’s going to get in. Daryl’s about fed up with it; the man’s going to run himself into the ground.

He starts staying up with the man, shadowing him, attaching himself to the hip of the man who’s unraveling at the ends. When Rick pushes his food onto another’s plate, Daryl pushes his own onto Rick’s. It’s a never-ending cycle, but at least Rick’s cheeks look a little pinker and his eyes a little clearer.

“Ya’ don’t have to stay with me,” Rick grunts, eyes trained through the scope of his rifle, but he’s really paying attention to Daryl. Daryl who’s leaning against the corner of the watchtower whittling bolts for his crossbow. He’s got his cowboy poncho on to keep the bite of the cold away, but his cheeks are still pink from the nip of the air. Rick thinks he looks alive, blessedly alive in this world of walkers.

“I know,” is Daryl’s easy reply, knife still going to work on the wooden arrow bolt. “Ya’ hungry?” Daryl asks as he pulls out some dried jerky from his pack and tosses it at Rick’s back. “Swear, you’re gettin’ skinnier than those starvin’ walkers out there.”

Rick snorts a laugh at that, surprising both of them, they haven’t had much to laugh at lately. They grin at each other, moonlight making the shadows on their faces exaggerated. Rick sweeps the grounds again, still wary that the walkers could breach their fences, but the grounds had been solid for days now. Rick grabs the pack of jerky off the ground and moves over to lean next to the spot beside Daryl, eyes now caught on the movement of the man’s hands as he works. Rick bites off a piece of the jerky, savoring the heady taste and it soaks into his tongue. The corner of Daryl’s mouth twitches up in a smirk since he’s gotten Rick to eat something.

They do this a lot more now, the silent companionship where words aren’t needed. It’s a testament to how far they’ve come that they can just sit here and mull over their own thoughts. The scary part is it’s like Daryl can sense exactly when Rick starts thinking about all the people they’ve lost, about his deceased wife, and Shane. Daryl nudges the man’s shoulder, getting the man’s thoughts away from the storm cloud in the back of his mind. “Whatever the fuck you’re thinkin’, it ain’t worth wastin’ your brain power over,” matter of fact, Daryl style. “We ain’t got mucha that left to go ‘round.”

A tiny bark of laughter shocks its way out of Rick’s throat, a dead, and hollow, mirthless sound. Hell, Daryl’s so fucking right.

||

And maybe he gets a little better, spends a little less time seeing the image of his dead wife strolling around the grounds and a little more time making sure the group’s glued back together. Daryl’s still stuck to his side, keeping his mind from falling back into those same traps. They develop this codependent relationship, this partnership, this left-hand right-hand arrangement that works well for them. Where one is, the other is soon to follow. Daryl has Rick’s back, and vice versa. 

Rick takes his baby girl in his arms finally and cries, Daryl hovering over his shoulder with a weight finally lifted off all their shoulders. It’s cathartic the way Rick gathers his remaining family in his arms, first starting with Judith and Carl, and then gathering in his extended family. Family that is not related by blood, but might as well be after all the red they’ve spilled together. They stand together in the center of the prison, huddled together as a group and thank whatever almighty power for keeping them together and alive for this long. Daryl’s presence is a long hot line down his side, comforting as much as it’s troublesome. Glenn and Maggie clutch at each other like they might be pulled apart any second. Hershel has his arms around each of his children, his only remaining family, but his eyes are on Rick, his broken/healing friend. Carol is tucked into Daryl’s side, one arm wrapped around Carl’s shoulders and her right side next to Beth. They’re all together, broken, but not unable to mend.

He takes up gardening and starts what will hopefully be a steady supply of fresh produce. Hershel’s a big help, directing him how to plant the seeds and till the ground. The only thing that doesn’t seem to be healing is Rick’s mind. He can’t sleep or he’s bombarded with the images of the dead. Rick lies awake at night, staring at the ceiling and trying to keep the feelings away.

Rick doesn’t really remember when Daryl starts bunking with him, but it was sometime between Daryl refusing to sleep in a cage and now. Rick’s not sure what changed his mind, but it’s comforting to hear the man breathing at night. Daryl takes the top bunk and Rick’s tortured with glimpses of Daryl’s skin as he climbs up. 

One night, Rick must have fallen asleep because next thing he knows Daryl’s sliding in beside him and shushing his sobbing. It’s a tight fit on the bunk, but Daryl somehow manhandles them so that Rick’s cradled into his chest. Daryl can feel his shirt soaking from where Rick’s crying into it, but he doesn’t care one bit, if this is what the man needs then so be it. 

It becomes a thing, Daryl just slipping into Rick’s bunk and staying there the whole night. It seems to keep the nightmares away, or at least lessen them. If he has a bad one Daryl just draws him closer and makes him feel safe like he hasn’t felt since this world went to hell. They wake up now with their legs tangled and their hair mussed. Daryl’s hand will have snuck beneath Rick’s shirt to rest comfortingly on his bare hip. Rick is finding his hand buried in Daryl’s hair more and more often. He likes it best when he wakes up and Daryl’s partially over top of him, as if he’s protecting him from the world with his own body.

No one mentions that they’re staying in the same cell, no one comes near their room on the bottom floor at the very end, and that’s just fine with them. It becomes easy in a way that this world is not and comforting like nothing has been recently.

|| 

Daryl’s up late one night, a book opened in the palm of one hand and the other stroking through the curly hair at the nape of Rick’s neck. When he’s asleep, Rick curls up to anything and everything close to him. His most recent favorite is the curve of Daryl’s abdomen, cheek warm against his skin. He pulls the threadbare blanket up higher and tucks it around Rick’s broad shoulders. It’s stupid how attached he’s become to the thick curly mop of hair Rick has, but the scratch of his beard against his stomach and the feel of it sliding through his fingers as he strokes the base of Rick’s neck it rather comforting.

Daryl’s never been a big toucher. He’d grown out of it when all he associated with touch is pain and anger. His dad certainly never wanted to hug him or give him a congratulatory slap on the back. Even now he tends to shrink away from people’s hands, preferring to watch from a distance as opposed to being right in it. That had been changing as of late, forcibly due to their close proximity and the tightness of their little family.

He’d also be lying if he said Rick hadn’t helped him with his touch phobia. The man was always grabbing his arm or slapping him on the shoulder, or more recently, sliding a hand across the back of his neck or over his hip. 

Dawn comes too quickly and Daryl wakes to realize he must have dozed off at some point. Rick’s sitting up, the book Daryl had been reading last night open in his lap. The first rays of sunshine are streaming through the bars, falling over the ridges and bumps of his chest. Every scar and wound is traced and highlighted in a warm glow; bright enough that Daryl can see the soft smile on Rick’s face.

“How long ya been up?” Daryl asks, voice hoarse and scratchy with sleep. He rolls towards the man, hands naturally slipping up his hips and notching around his back.

“A bit, doesn’t sound like anyone else is up yet though,” a rare treasure, usually everyone’s up at the crack of dawn.

“Lil’ asskicker hasn’t woken up Carol yet?” Which is hard to believe for Daryl, but at Rick’s nod he huffs a laugh. “Best god damn babe I’ve ever seen.”

Rick’s eyes still look sunken in, slightly hollow but brighter than they’ve been in a while. “Hey,” Daryl grunts, waiting until Rick looks at him before pushing up with his elbows to brush their lips together. He notches back immediately after, eyes bouncing between Rick’s lips, his eyes, his chest, anything so that he doesn’t have to see rejection. Shouldn’t really have expected any, Rick draws him in with his arms and one hand cradles the back of Daryl’s neck, fingers tangled in his inky hair. They stare at each other for a few seconds, foreheads pressed together and noses rubbing in the middle. Their morning breath mingles in between them but it’s of little consequence. Nothing can smell worse than living in a world full of walkers. Carl always jokes that their sense of smell has up and died on them after so long.

Rick seals their lips together, slow and gentle, takes his time sucking Daryl’s bottom lip into his mouth and biting it with his teeth. Daryl pushes the man down, wrestles him to a stop and leans down to nip a line across the scruff under Rick’s jaw. “Let me take care o’yah, yah do enough fer everyone else, lemme do this for yah,” Daryl mumbles into Rick’s throat, voice low and rough. Rick just swallows and Daryl takes that as a yes by the way the man pushes his hips up into Daryl’s. “Yeh ever been with a man b’fore?” He doesn’t make it accusatory or humiliating, just a question. Rick shakes his head slowly, leaning in to where Daryl’s moved to sucking a hickey on the juncture of his throat and shoulder. “Tha’s ok, I gotcha.” And Rick knows Daryl means it. With his everything he means it.

It starts slow, Daryl stripping them the rest of the way, which means getting rid of their boxers and socks. He let’s his hands roam Rick’s weathered body, over the bullet wounds and the knife scars and the telltale signs of life that dot his form like constellations. Daryl’s been praying to him for months, given up on whatever god’s watching over him and put his faith in the man who’s gotten him this far. Daryl can’t seem to get the words out, so he uses his lips and his tongue and his hands to tell Rick just how much he appreciates everything he’s done. Nips at his hip bones and sinks lower to run his cheek over Rick’s growing erection. The rasp of his scruff makes Rick shiver in such a way that Daryl does it again just so he can feel it reverberate into his own body. “Yah need this, don’tcha?” Daryl whispers against the man’s crotch, tongue flicking out to lick a strip up Rick’s balls. If his dad ever knew he’d be face deep in a man’s crotch he’d probably be rolling over in his grave right now, but Daryl has long since come to terms with his desires. In college he’d branched out and found himself away from his father and his brother. Without their domineering personalities around Daryl didn’t have to fit into the stereotype of backwards redneck like they seemed to want. 

Out of respect for Lori he’d been keeping his distance from Rick, afraid that they’d catch on to Daryl’s apparent fascination with Rick. Didn’t do much good it seems as Daryl opens his mouth to suck down Rick’s length. The man grunts, hips shifting lightly under the weight of Daryl’s body but unable to go anywhere. He takes him down as deep as he can, using his hand to cover the flesh that won’t fit in his throat. Daryl uses his other hand to fondle Rick’s balls, pleased when he hears the man’s panting increase above him. They have to be moderately silent everything in the cell block echoes and even if no one’s awake yet they don’t want anyone waking up to the sounds of their cries. A half grunt half moan escapes from between Rick’s parted lips when Daryl moves up to the head and swirls his tongue around the sensitive crown and then down the large veined underside. Rick’s fumbling over the side of the bed, body contorted half over Daryl’s head, forcing his dick further down Daryl’s throat, but the man doesn’t seem to mind, humming around the length in his mouth. When Rick resurfaces he’s got a tube in his hand, light blush staining his cheeks as he tosses it on the side of the cot. Daryl pops off Rick’s dick with an obscene sound, mouth quirking to the side as he picks up the present.

“You been wantin’ to get in my pants for how long?” Daryl questions, unscrewing the top and squeezing some of the cool fluid in his palm. It feels good in his hands, slick, cool at first but warming with his body heat. Rick full on twitches when he drags a finger down his balls and to the opening behind them. Rick actually sucks up his first finger pretty easily, body shivering delightfully under him and Daryl’s dick full on twitches at the view. “Shit, Rick you’re gonna drive me crazy,” Daryl growls, rasping his cheek against Rick’s thigh and thrusting his finger in further. The man loves it, writhes slightly at the feeling and bites out an order for more. Daryl feels the half grin forming on his face even as he wiggles in another finger next to the first. Rick feels tighter with this one and Daryl pauses to let the man get used to the feeling. He knows he needs to move when Rick starts trying to push himself down on his fingers. Daryl’s mouthing over his hip bone, his dick, his balls, his thighs, but his eyes are constantly stitched to where his fingers are disappearing into Rick’s body.

“Com’on,” Rick grunts tugging on Daryl’s hair and pulling him up to eye level. They share a few sloppy kisses, Daryl’s tongue entirely too interested in mapping Rick’s mouth to concentrate on making the kiss neat. He realizes he must be taking too long because Rick grabs the tube of lube by himself and strokes the cool fluid along Daryl’s straining erection. It feels good with those calloused hands holding him; it’s been far too long since he had anything other than his own hand.

“Jesus, let go or yer not gonna get any,” Daryl’s hips buck plaintively, fingers clenching around Rick’s hips tellingly. The man only grins, pulling up a leg so that Daryl can fit better between his thighs. Daryl pushes in slow and easy, more for himself than anything. Rick’s so tight in just the right way that it’s like his body’s trying to milk Daryl right then and there. “Breathe,” he reminds, instantly feeling the man’s path loosen a bit. “That’s it, com’on, slidin’ right in,” he babbles, fingers tracing around where him and Rick are connected. A few short thrusts and he’s balls deep. They groan in tandem, Daryl’s heart shuddering in his chest as he unconsciously drags his dick out a few inches and then pushes straight back in. Feels so good he realizes he’s been grunting a stream of “fuckfuckfuckfuck,” for the past minute or so. Rick’s got a hand thrown behind him to brace himself against the wall and the other is clutching at Daryl’s ass cheek and pulling him even closer. It starts off slow, a rhythmic drag out/thrust in and repeat, but then Rick digs his heel into the other man’s lower back and bites at the corner of his mouth in a silent askance for harder/deeper/moremoremore.

Daryl seals his mouth over Rick’s, trying to stem the flow of curse words flowing out like nonsense, vaguely remembering that they’re supposed to be trying to keep quiet. Damn bunk bed is squeaking up a racket but he can’t stop now. He wraps his long fingers around the sheriff’s erection, short hard tugs to match the time of his thrusts. Rick full body shudders every now and then which Daryl takes as him hitting the man’s prostate. He loves it, loves the way Rick’s eyes roll back a bit with each thrust, loves the way his free hand travels across Daryl’s body, tweaking a nipple, cupping his jaw, tugging his hair, loves it all. Rick’s abdomen clenches, hand shooting over to bat away Daryl’s and take up a faster unforgiving rhythm on his own cock. Daryl gets to watch as Rick streaks come over his own chest, face contorting silently, and body shuddering for a few seconds before going limp. He shakes out his hand; mouth briefly stuck in a flattering ‘o’ shape after that orgasm. Daryl takes it all in, only briefly slowing his thrusts to ride Rick through his high. When his bright eyes open Daryl picks up again loving the way he’s suddenly oversensitive and erotically flushed.

Daryl bends at the waist, leaning over Rick to rest his head against that hard chest as he thrusts into him harder, mind going blank briefly as he just feels everything, smells it, tastes it with his tongue which dips across the trenches of his chest. He stutters, hips hitting one last in stroke and freezing as he very nearly comes his life force out. It’s been a while since it’s been that good, probably since the first few times Daryl discovered what his dick could do. This definitely rates top three experiences, probably tied for number one with discovering what masturbation was.

He collapses to the side of Rick, softening dick slipping from the man with an obscene squelch but Daryl loves it, loves all of it. Rick slides down, forgoing the covers and instead worming his arm under Daryl’s head to draw him into his side.

“What lovely southern hospitality,” Daryl grunts, face pressed into Rick’s warm skin. Rick just chuckles, body vibrating with the sound.

||

Daryl wakes later with the sounds of barely concealed talking. There are a bunch of words flying around but Daryl recognizes that most of them are questions about Rick. He decides that’s his cue to get up. A glance over and Rick’s still passed out, stomach up with what he’s sure is the man’s come dried and sticky on his stomach. Daryl steers his eyes away from the tantalizing image of a naked Rick, resisting the urge to wake the man up with his cock down his throat and give the man the chance to return the favor of a good fuck but…the voices are getting louder and Daryl’s never seen Rick sleep so peacefully before.

He hops up, haphazardly jumping into his clothing…trying to ignore the drying cum on him but failing miserably. Daryl skids out of the cell just in time to intercept a small group of people heading their way. “Hey Daryl, you know where Rick is?” Glenn asks cheerfully. Daryl glances towards the windows and realizes they must have slept into late afternoon based on the glare of the sun. He still doesn’t feel even the least bit rested, he’d prefer nothing more than to curl up beside Rick and spend the rest of the day there…maybe wake the man up by humping against the crack of his ass—Daryl shakes his head.

“He’s sleeping,” Daryl grunts, scrubbing a hand through his hair to hide the faint flush he can feel rising to his cheeks.

“This late?” Beth questions, large innocent eyes glancing around between people, “is he okay? Is he sick or something?” That seems to cause a panic, god forbid Rick have come down with something. In this new world of walkers medical care is incredibly hard to come by. If Rick has come down with something they would need to make sure they have the supplies to care for him.

“Nah, he’s fine, he’s just sleepin’ is all,” Daryl tries to reassure them, realizing that one wrong move could cause an ambush on the sleeping man. Jesus, Daryl realizes he should have covered him up before he left. Rick’s dick is just hangin’ out for all the world to see.

“Are you sure? I could have a look at him, make sure he’s not running a fever,” Hershel offers, hobbling forward with his crutches. Daryl nearly growls, fed up with their questioning and badgering, any other day it would be fine but the lack of sleep Daryl’s running on combined with their babbling has him grumpier than ever.

“Ah hell, y’all just leave the man to sleep in peace, he’s fucking fine. Jesus, all the god damn shouting,” Daryl hisses slinging his crossbow over his shoulder and storming through the group to get outside. By this point they’re used to his mood swings and leave him alone.

It’s hours later that Rick finds him in the watch tower, whittling bolts for his crossbow with a steady hand. “Yah coulda covered me up before you left asshole,” Rick teases, sliding down to sit next to the man. “Gave poor Hershel a fright when he came in to wake me up for dinner.”

“Serves ‘em right, told ‘em to leave yah the fuck alone for the day,” Daryl grunts, eyes not leaving the knife in his hand.

“Hey,” Rick breathes out, waiting for Daryl to look up this time before leaning forward and kissing the air out of him. “Not regrettin’ last night, never will. It was right.” Rick eases the constriction that had been in Daryl’s chest without him rightly realizing what it meant.

“Damn right, I don’t just fuck anyone yah hear,” Daryl replies snidely, twisting a hand in Rick’s shirt and refusing to let him retreat.

“Likewise, yah redneck.”

Things may not be perfect, they’re still fighting for their lives in this godforsaken world, but Daryl’s got someone to watch his back, keep him sane, keep him fighting. And that’s all he needs.

Rick pulls back a few inches, “hey, by the way, thanks, y’know, for not letting me lose my mind.” Daryl just grips his shirt harder, fingers tugging at clothing and hair and skin so that they can get impossibly closer to one another.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos are always appreciated! 
> 
> You should come prompt me some Rickyl ideas over on tumblr! I'll be sure to write them!
> 
> ahhale-werewolves (dot) tumblr (dot) com/ask


End file.
